


Towing the Moon

by motleystitches (furius)



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert, Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Civil War, Dune history, M/M, Politics, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/motleystitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years into the Golden Path, the Known Universe is poised on the brink of a civil war while Leto II’s personality fractures causing  his ancestor personae to re-emerge, including Charles Xavier, who realises the form of Erik Lenhsherr even aspects of his personality and abilities have been repeated in the body of a rebel soldier. As war rages over the Known Universe, so does the struggle over the souls of Charles, Erik, and Leto II.</p><p>(Book canon, movie verse imagery- set between <i>Children of Dune</i> and <i>God Emperor of Dune</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towing the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> _The Four Ages of Man_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _He with body waged a fight,  
>  But body won; it walks upright._
> 
> _Then he struggled with the heart;  
>  Innocence and peace depart._
> 
>   _Then he struggled with the mind;  
>  His proud heart he left behind._
> 
> _Now his wars on God begin;  
>  At stroke of midnight God shall win._
> 
> _\- A Vision, by W. B. Yeats_
> 
> excerpt from **Recollections (circa 1219 BG)** , by Charles F. Xavier of the Xavier School for the Gifted, 10819 A.G.

-=-=

Ghanima exhaled her last breath. Her body lay in state, her family around her. Water leaked out beneath the curve of her eyelids. The shape of her mouth was a thin, tight line. The colour and curl of her hair were reflecting light from the tall windows. The grand room carried an echo of her breath.

Their great great grand-daughter lifted her hand and reached out to adjust a fold of thick cloth. The awkward movement of her eleven-year old figure, Leto couldn’t help notice, was Ghani (in front of him) at eleven, hesitating between themselves over a game-piece. Who should win?

Ghani’s mouth was on their great grand-daughter’s face, her eyes repeated beneath their grandson’s Corrino brow but even the almost perfect replica of the form was in part only and was not Ghanima, but a shadow or a souvenir from her life- appearance were merely accident of phenotypic expression, no matter how carefully the genetic material had been manipulated.

Leto had not predicted this: the loss of warmth visible in her cheeks, the stiffening skin, the pallor of ex-animation. He had always known death, but the memory and even ancestral memory of loss was unexpected and it had been a very long time since he had to learn to encounter something entirely new.

Grief was beyond the knowledge of his sandtrout skin, which was curling away even as he gave water from his eyes to his sister, his wife, his other half- eyes where he could not look, ears for when he was not listening, and another voice beside his, magnification and assurance. He was not alone. 

Now naked, in a skin as smooth as a boy’s, as he had been when he was newly mantled with Arrakis’ gift, he shivered in the still air. There were a thousand eyes in front of him, watching him and Leto knew with a knowledge that was terribly present.

Ghanima was dead. Leto’s back was exposed.

-=-=

“Where is he?” Shaw murmured, pacing. Finally, the door hissed open. “Is this him?”

The soldier nodded, his hands tight on the shoulder of dejected small figure. At Shaw’s voice, he lifted his face.

“You are only a boy,” Shaw said, surprised. “What’s your name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr,” the boy said. He had a trace of an accent that Shaw didn’t recognize.

“Do you want to go home?”

The boy nodded. He was thin, with delicate cheekbones and large eyes, now filled of hope. Shaw sighed. He opened a drawer in his desk and carefully drew out the box then depressed the button. Faint wisps of smoke curled up as the cover slid away.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle. He’s had little practise. It came out like a harsh whisper.

Erik shook his head.

“It’s a crysknife. Rather, what remains of one. It’s a Fremen weapon from Arrakis. They disappear after the death of the owner. Do you know what Arrakis is?”

“The planet where Spice is cultivated, the seat of the Emperor Leto II and the House Atreides.” Erik answered. There was no hesitation in his voice.

“Very good,” Shaw smiled. Erik smiled tentatively back. “but this knife has nothing to do with the spice. The knife disappears because during it’s making, it becomes attuned to the electric fields of its owner. Without it, it disintegrates very quickly. No one outside of Arrakis has ever seen a complete crysknife. What I want you to do, little Erik, is keep it from disappearing.”

The boy looked up at him, surprised. “I...”

“I saw what you did out there. You opened the Ixian ship without touching it.” Shaw had stood by his window and seen the panic of Ixians as their fail-safe locks failed and the cargo bay holding the prisoners of war spilled open. And then among the throng of crowds was Erik, his face contorted, his hands in a furious gesture. It stirred Shaw somehow, like a scene he had witnessed in another life. He rewatched the security tapes, noted when all the electronic technology seemed to be simultaneously disrupted until finally his own Sardaukars moved in to keep the peace at the port. “It requires tremendous amount of force. The universe has four fundamental non-contact forces,” Shaw mused, “I think you have a gift to manipulate one of them. The hull of an Ixian ship would bend under magnetic force. Magnetism and electric fields are intrinsically linked.” Shaw paused. The boy was becoming noticeably confused. It was not yet the time for lessons. “This is very rare artifact, a gift obtained with great expense and effort. I don’t want to lose it.” Erik still seemed hesitant. “Just try,” Shaw encouraged.

Erik nodded and reached out, with one hand then the other. He was visibly straining. but the crysknife was still dissolving rapidly in front of them.

“I can’t-”

“You want to go home, Erik. Go back home with your mother if you can just help me with this one simple thing. It’s a lot less complicated than a spaceship. I’m not asking for you to tow the moon.”

Even as he spoke, Shaw gestured to the guard at the door. While Erik tried and failed and stood in front of him heaving for breath the door opened again, this time there was a woman, haggard and ragged like most who find themselves unwittingly on this planet. She cried out seeing Erik.

“Mother-” The boy turned and was running towards her when Shaw stopped him with a tight grip on his forearm. Erik’s mother looked stricken, but dared not to move. She murmurred something in their tongue and Erik nodded and stilled.

“Help me,” Shaw said again. “Help me and you can both go home.” Home, Shaw knew, had already been destroyed, but he was a boy among strangers. Lights flickered. Shaw looked up at the ceiling then reached for his pistol. He turned Erik toward the cryknife. “I’m going to count to three. Stop the knife from disappearing or she’s going to die. Save your mother, Erik.”

He counted. Erik turned at the last moment, just in time to see the woman’s mouth open and her eyes close. The lights began flickering again. The guard holding her started vibrating, then he crumpled- all his armor twisted around himself. The women fell into the pool of blood at the same time the doorframe began to warp and the very walls themselves began to shift in colour, the metal threading through them changing in texture and consistency.

Shaw was so surprised that when Erik twisted away from him, he let go. But Erik didn’t run out of the open door, he stood over the body of his mother and the dead soldier. Erik’s young shoulders were shaking.

Eventually, the light steadied. The sound of boots stopped at the door. Shaw commanded the soldiers to halt. He walked over to Erik and patted him on the shoulder. “Wonderful,” he breathed.

Slowly, he walked him back to the desk and sat him in the chair. Erik stared at the desk. Behind him, the corpses were being disposed. Shaw reached for the crysknife within the box. There was only a fragment left. “It is yours,” he handed it over. Erik’s hand opened, seemingly of its own accord because he was staring at the desk, but once it touched his skin, the white fragment stopped its ghostly disappearance. Shaw watched Erik watching it solidify within his palm, a flattened fragment, almost a disk. “It recognizes you,” Shaw said, marvelling, and then bid Erik Lehnsherr to be taken away to the barracks.

-=-=

Once he was alone again. A figure stepped out of the shadow. There was no sound of footsteps but Shaw knew he was there.

“Well, what do you think, Duncan?”

“It’s a waste for it to be in the form of a boy,” Duncan said, surveying the destruction of the walls. “If he can manipulate electric-magnetic fields, the Ixian Confederacy, even the Spacing Guild are fatally vulnerable.“ If they were the Bene Gesserit, they would breed him, preserve his bloodline until his abilities were strong enough to be retained in every generation. It they were Tleixaus, they would make an army of him. but Duncan didn’t have thousand of years and the thought of Tleixaus and gholas turned his stomach. Erik Lehnsherr was only a child; he didn’t deserve an endless non-life.

“If he survives,” Shaw interrupted delicately. “Boys pass through Salusa Secundus all the time. Few men emerge. Even for you, General, I cannot single out Erik Lehnsherr. He must prove himself first, if he would be so fatal to our potential enemies.”

“I’ve no intention of interfering. He will,” Duncan said firmly. “You killed his mother the same time he realises he has a weapon.” He paused, watching the metallic sheen of fully armed Sardaukar marching in the square below. The material of the Salusan metal was a product as unique to the planet biology as crysknife was to Arrakis. “You still grow Narvi narviium on this planet. He will find that out soon.” He turned toward the window. The glass was plaz, usually only used for ships travelling in deep space, but the planet was harsh enough even for a watchtower usage. But Duncan still noticed the air was more breathable than he remembered. More evidence of Leto II’s meddling to weaken the House Corrino and their military base.

“It’s a mercy for his mother to die in front of him, the boy will realize, but I didn’t know you cared, General Idaho. I’m flattered.”

Duncan laughed, cold. “A commander of the Sardaukar aspiring to a share of CHOAM directorship, I doubt if anything could flatter you or your ambition, Shaw. I must commend, you, however, for having the foresight to wear nothing metal.”

“Be careful,” Shaw said, at ease with accusation. “The ears of the Emperor is everywhere. Even you might not escape unscathed should he hear of this.”

Duncan’s handsome mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “He’ll just bring me back like he did so many times before.”

“But who will make good on promises _you_ made?” Shaw asked. “It takes a very long time for you to remember. I may not live long enough to help the next Duncan Idaho.”

Sebastian was exactly like the last time he saw him. The aging was barely noticeable. Spice prolongs life. Spice expands consciousness. Spice must flow. “Don’t lie.” Duncan’s reflection was still young, his face almost the exact Alia had loved once. He waved the memory away. It was a different life. He had been a different man. “This is the last. Leto must die. The Empire must be free.”

I would be free, he thought. He had lost his fear of death long ago.

-=-=

The Tleixaus had not dared to offer to make a ghola of Ghanima, Sister-Wife to the Emperor of the Known Universe. They wished to, Leto knew. Their ambassador, himself an odd creature, a twisted crumple of atavistic and humanoid traits, lay prostrate in front of him, his blue-fur glowing faintly.

“We are at your service,” the ambassador said. When he rose, his leonine head became evident, and though he wore clothes and spoke well, Leto was ashamedly intrigued, as if a dumb animal had suddenly gained sentience. “And the Futar are with you.”

It must be the name of his race. The Known Universe was merely known, after all. There were planets beyond the outreaches of the Empire. Futar could not be human.

“What do the Futar have to do with Tleixaus?” Leto asked.

“An alliance of minds,” answered the ambassador. The Tleixaus were cowards. They did not dare to face Leto themselves and if this Futar spoke of their alliance so carefully as if their _purpose_ was not the same, Leto wondered. He almost turned.

Abruptly, he remembered that Ghani was not there. The unforeseen distress was stressing his body. Worse still, his living skin seemed so attuned to his emotional state that they could not stabilize his metabolism. He dismissed his court and blindly, reached into his memory for his first teachers.

And like a whisper from a ghost came the words: “You miss her.”

“It’s human,” Leto thought. And he was the Emperor, the God Emperor. A God with his back exposed. The thought troubled him.

“I grieved. I wasn’t human,” Charles Xavier said, his voice becoming stronger, breaking through what should’ve been millennia of honed Bene Gesserit shields. “ I had a friend, he knew what I didn’t realise for twenty years.”

Leto knew, from his memories, that Charles Xavier referred to what the humans of the 21st century learned- the sterile marriages between human and mutant couples, eventually leading to the near extinction of the mutant race as the X-gene became dormant in the population.

“You are the first generation of a new species.” A new humanity, hunted to extinction during the Machine Age. The distraction of facts and history was oddly soothing.

“The puzzle of the chicken and the egg, resolved.” Charles was laughing inside his head. He always sounded young even when Leto first heard him, as if death had stripped away more than life, but also the burdens of life and the hard lessons it had imparted to the first man who knew he could wield the power of a god. It was a power that almost died with him. 

“And what about you, my...descendent..my friend? Ghanima was your sister. She was your friend. She existed in no other place and no other time except what she shared with you. Grief,” he urged, “and don’t forget.”

Leto walked alone inside one of the silent corridors of the Citadel. “How could I,” he said, the words disappearing into air because no one heard them. The thousand of years stretched before him and it seemed endless, remembering Ghanima, remembering the first touch of her mind in the womb. He had never known loneliness, not even when they parted that first time. They knew they would hold each other when it ended or both perish.

“Charles Xavier?” he roused his ancestral memory.

“Yes, Leto?”

“Tell me about your sister.”

The memory would hurt Charles Xavier, but Leto did not like his own grief and he knew Charles could never refuse to offer comfort when he could.

Slowly, then, Charles began: “I was nine years old when I heard someone in the kitchen....”

-=-=

Culled from the shipyards and the far-flung mining planets, the boys as young as ten arrived already hardy from colony life and familiar with the engineering of war machines. Rumors travelled into the barracks of Salusa Secundus’s public mess halls only with the arrival of the youngest herd- still young and talkative, but for the last twenty years, it was the same news: the Ixian Confederacy, with their government councils of old men, were marching to war.

The Ixian colonists lived longer. But troublingly, they also recognized a sense of comradeship beyond the Sardaukar discipline. The Ixian Confederacy had failed to defend their parents, siblings, and friends, but the Salusan training had done little to inspire further loyalty when there were enough of them with the same background could remind themselves what it had been and who took it from them. They were loyal unto themselves, a brotherhood that the Wardens had tried to break in vain.

“It’s a problem in the chain of command,” Erik heard Shaw say to Janos before the hunt. “The unit must remain loyal to the House Corrino, first and foremost. These Ixians,” he continued, “they lie, cheat, and would defend each other unto death. It’s admirable. Troublesome, but perhaps useful.”

Janos remained silent, as his wont. Erik didn’t have to strain to hear Shaw. Shaw must know he was still here. He hadn’t been dismissed.

“Are you proposing a culling?” Azazel’s voice was a soft sibilant hiss, a gentleness belied by his hulking form and the cruelty with which he wielded it. On his brow and between Erik’s nose and mouth were small traces of a scar, still visible despite rapid medical care. He touched it now, remembering that Azazel hadn’t hesitated even when Erik was only a boy. The knife had nearly sliced his face off.

“They must be divided,” Shaw was saying. “You and Janos will stay out of it. Erik will choose.”

Erik clenched his hands. Every ten years, for a period of time, a cohort of Sardaukar would be set upon each other. Only the strongest or the most devious survived.

“They will hate him for it,” Janos said.

“That’s quite all right to the High Command,” Shaw said, clearly meaning for Erik to hear. “I’ve tried to dissuade them, to no avail. We will have to look after him when we go off planet.”

Erik, startled, must’ve made a noise, because Azazel appeared suddenly beside him in the alcove, a strange look in his eyes. Erik would not survive long among Sardaukar without a planet that grew metal in its plant form beneath his feet.

“We will.” Azazel's face gashed to a smile.

-=-=


End file.
